Look at the "About Me" text appearing elsewhere on this screen. It used to say that I live in "New York." Now it says that I live in "Astoria, Queens : New York City." Your eyes do not decieve you. This native Manhattanite has done the unthinkable and relocated to one of the city's so-called outer boroughs.
So far, I'm delighted. My Manhattan chauvinism ebbs away daily and my fondness for Queens grows. Astoria is a cozy -- but not un-invigorating -- neighborhood with speedy above-ground subway service to Midtown. (That last sentence was certainly a jumble of paradoxes, n'est-ce pas?) In fact, my new Midtown commute is as fast as, or faster than, the commute from Harlem where I lived during the past year. I don't feel in the least marooned or isolated from "the action" of the city. I simply live in a different wing of the mansion.
My apartment, shared with the radiant but beleaguered Mr. Supersweetie, is comfortable, well laid-out, and welcoming despite being a forest of semi-unpacked boxes. Storage and organization remain problems to be gradually solved. But I have high hopes and -- a rarity for me -- optimism!
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